


Cafe Depict

by exclamationlou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 18 year old Harry, 19 year old Louis, Admiration, Anal, Art, Artist In love, Artist Louis, Bottom Louis, Gay, In Love, London, M/M, Making Love, May contain depressing words, Sad, Soulmates, Top Harry, Writer Harry, growing together, pounding, soft, supportive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 17:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11212362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exclamationlou/pseuds/exclamationlou
Summary: I paint the soul and spirit of what I see in your words.Harry needs motivation and Louis needs a canvas.





	Cafe Depict

**Author's Note:**

> I'm re uploading this to see if anyone would want me to continue this fic. Please leave any feedback and anything you'd want me to change !! I think I should change this into a 3rd period POV fic .. If you see it in the next chapter ( If there is one) Dont be surprised

"Yes, Ma'am. I do understand, but could you please keep your voice down. You're going to disturb the customers." I gently said to the woman yelling at me over the counter.

She claimed her coffee wasn't "hot enough." I warmed it up for her. But since she had apparently asked for black coffee, she complained that it was way too "light."

That's a new one, haven't heard that complaint yet.

"Would you like another coffee? On the house." I forced a smile, I've gotten pretty good at it.

She pulled her iPhone from her ear for the first time and placed it against the fabric of her freshly pressed suit.

"Are you the house?" She asked in a serious tone.

I chuckled slightly. The price of the coffee would definitely effect me as it was coming out of my paycheck. 

One wouldn't hurt, but this is the third this morning and I can't survive off of ramen noodles my entire life. 

I got a figure to maintain.

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'd also like a no-carb chocolate muffin for my troubles."

I inhaled deeply and choked out

"Y-You got it."

She faked a smile and continued her conversation.

She rolled her eyes and rested her hand on the counter. She was quick to pull away and rubbed her fingers together.

"Clean that." She said and continued on with her conversation."

"Here you go, M-" I was rudely stopped by her when she put a finger in my face, signaling me to stay quiet. She snatched her coffee and her muffin, hurrying out of the café. 

$8.59 out of my paycheck, gone.

I proceeded to pull the towel that hung over my shoulder and wiped away, whatever disturbed her, on the counter.

Sadly, customers being rude to me isn't a new thing and I've gotten used to it. I know how to force a smile and keep a steady tone. It's an art, really.

But it isn't like this is what I asked for. It's almost as of there's a note on my forehead saying: "Yell at me, I'm an imbecile!" at this point.

I hate this job more than anything in the world, but all the other café's turned me down. I know what you're thinking: "Why don't you just work somewhere else? Like, a pet groomer or something?" 

Yeah, I got great hair. Doesn't mean I know how to cut it.

Oh, and my mum always wanted me to work here.

But I'm not sure how she expects me to live my whole life with only seventy dollars to my name. And how I would do so comfortably.

This job is basically another form of hell. A palace for rich snobs to visit with their oh, so special orders and complain with my manager about my service. It's always me.

I'm one of the only workers here that get the most hours and I'm somehow the youngest at the age of eighteen.

I've worked here since I was about 16 and I've gone numb. Before, their words would really hit me. I could barely take the constant abuse.

Now, I've built a brick wall. More like a glass wall. I can see it all, but it doesn't touch me.

Maybe until I snap. It's inevitable.

There was about five minutes left on my shift, so I took my things and waited by the checkout until time was up.

Once six thirty hit, I rushed out and started walking home. Since I was an eighteen-year-old with barely enough income for a bike, I obviously didn't have my own car.

And it isn't like my parents wanted to drive me back and forth.

It wasn't too far, but after a long, exhausting day, I still never look forward to a walk. 

By the time I get there it is a little past seven,I live alone, so I sleep when I want, do what I want. I'm free. I'm also very lonely.

I shower alone. I change alone. I eat alone. I am alone.

Most of the days, when work is over and it is just me and my thoughts, I'd feel a bit down after work, but nothing Netflix couldn't fix. But today, today was like wrapping an anchor around my ankle and taking a plunge into the ocean.

There is not enough oxygen flowing to my brain to think to untie this knot. But maybe I want to drown.

But I had reason to be unhappy. Isn't everyone? No one is truly happy,and if they are, they clearly don't know what's going on in the world

I'm sure this is normal...

Right?

I curled up into a ball and piled three blankets. I then reached over to the lamp on my counter and turned the light out.

I was now staring at the wall blankly. Where is my motivation?

I'm thinking of my future now. And how everything would work out for me.

My writing; I think I'm actually pretty good. I've gotten a lot of cards from publishers and I've posted many of my works online and have gotten amazing feedback.

But my parents say no. No publishers, no writing.

They have little faith in me. My chances of being of a successful writer in their book: one to nothing.

It isn't like I write anymore. I had such severe writer's block I quit. I guess they got what they wanted.

I have no inspiration.

Where is my motivation?


End file.
